


All the Unremarkable Goodbyes

by laudanum_and_wine



Series: Beginnings and Endings [2]
Category: The Expanse (TV), The Expanse Series - James S. A. Corey
Genre: Break Up, F/M, Light Angst, Lovers to Friends, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudanum_and_wine/pseuds/laudanum_and_wine
Summary: For a time Joe and Octavia were happy and in love and then it all unraveled.A series of the last times they every did something together, and how we got (more or less) from my last fic to canon.
Relationships: Joe Miller/Octavia Muss
Series: Beginnings and Endings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009044
Kudos: 10





	1. Meeting old friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Social situations are never easy, but they can be made more difficult through over-use of alcohol.

The first party Miller ever went to with Octavia was for New Years eve. 

Celebrating the Holidays in the Belt was always a little weird. Almost no Belters cared about Christ or Christmas, there were no seasons and so no solstice, and neither Earthers nor Martians were willing to advertise their "other" nature by openly celebrating their cultural holidays. 

New Years, however, was a big deal to most everyone. At least, it was on Ceres, and Miller had never been anywhere else so that was sort of the end of the subject as far as he cared. Octavia said it was basically the same on Ganymede, though with a bigger focus on food which made sense. On Ceres, she said, they all drank too much and ate too little. 

Miller, again, couldn't add much to the conversation as he had nothing to compare to. He was of the opinion that living in the Belt probably drove people crazy, and that without some kind of coping mechanism you'd eventually snap and go feral, kill your family or jump out an airlock. Drinking was the way most of the belt chose to deal with the constant threat of the delicately balanced axe that hung above their collective heads, and at least you could say the damage liquor did was mostly to yourself. Mostly.

And it seemed the majority of Ceres station seemed to agree with him if tonight was anything to go by, because three quarters of the station was drunk. 

But not Joe, oh no, he was as still stone cold sober as the vacuum of space. And that was by choice, more or less, which even he thought was passingly strange. 

"We finally get to meet the infamous Joe?" 

The voice was a sing-song through Octavia's hand terminal and Miller just scowled at the words. Rana, he thought, even though he'd never met the woman.

"Yeah, Miller," Octavia corrected. "He'll be there, he has a shift but he's gonna meet us at the Frog after."

"Aw, so we don't get to see you two show up together-" Raya again.

"But we get to see them kiss hello!" And that was Ky, and already Miller was tired. He pulled a shirt from his small closet and considered it, didn't yet put it on.

"What the fuck you two: did you regress to teens when you went off-station?" Octavia sounded patient but with a hint of genuine frustration, thank god for that: at least she was vaguely aware those two were already exhausting.

Miller padded barefoot out of his own living room, fled the laughing women's voices, and retreated into the tiny restroom to flip open the bathroom cupboard open and retrieve his razor. He took his sweet time shaving, half listening for the call to end, until finally he heard goodbyes. He lingered a plausible amount of time cleaning up his sideburns before rinsing up and exiting the bathroom. 

Octavia was tying her curls up in the semi reflective surface of the window.

"Bathroom's all yours if you want it," Miller said, and jerked a thumb behind himself.

Octavia picked up her drink, turned, and looked him over slowly. He smiled, watched her sip her gin, and leaned against the doorframe. 

"Or was there something else you wanted?" He asked.

"You don't have time."

"There, uh," he considered the question, tapped his fingers along the wall. "There's not really a good answer to that, is there? If I agree you'll leave, if I disagree it's doing no good for my reputation."

"Yeah," Octavia finished her gin, set the glass in his sink, and walked her fingers along his skin playfully. "Guess you're fucked."

"Well I'll just have to make sure I get you back here later," he caught her hand, kissed her fingertips. "Maybe you'll give me more time, let me be convincing." She looked more amused than seduced, so he cheated a bit by licking the pad of her thumb. She laughed, but her pupils looked a little wider, maybe, her cheeks a little pinker.

"The girls are going to dock in a half hour, I'm headed out to meet Kipo portside to greet them. Put some clothes on," she sounded breathy.

"Sure."

Octavia snorted, pulled him down, kissed him, then left, "Don't get stabbed."

Miller got dressed slow, shrugged on his shoulder holster and coat, then headed out for his three hour shift. As soon as Octavia had asked if he had plans for New Years and could he finally meet her friends? Well, he may have self-sabotaged a bit. He'd made a point of pissing off Shaddid last week: reports filed just a day late, forgetting to pull case files until the last minute, and finally getting into an almost-fistfight with Octavia's former partner as a cherry on top. Cavanaugh had swung first, and all Miller had needed to do was be an asshole, then duck, and let the dumb kid crack his own knuckles on a bulkhead. Shaddid had known, and Miller had ended up one of the few officers working a shift on New Year's night.

He hadn't realized the schedule this year was composed of a series of overlapping three hour shifts, not the normal all-nighters. He'd still get holiday pay, but having to stay sober until 2300 at night almost wasn't worth it. 

It was a little over two hours into his shift and he was somewhere in the upper levels when he heard his name.

"Miller, hey Miller!" 

Miller turned, and there was Brett, who he hadn't seen in a year, who was holding a drink in one hand, who had a pair of pretty girls holding the door of the Hyacinth open for him, and really Miller already knew this story. He almost regretted it, just for a second, just thought about not doing this. "Just, you know, maybe don't," his mind said clearly, in his own voice.

Out loud what he said was, "Brett? How the hell are ya, man?" And slapped the Martian's back and smiled. 

So of course an hour later at 2300, shift over and officially off-the-clock Miller found himself back at the Hyacinth. "Just one drink," the voice said (his own voice, only dryer, and so rational sounding) and, "honestly, you've got an hour to midnight anyway," and "it's not like Tavi will even be that angry."

He'd only stay a bit, then take off. He brought Brett a beer.

And the little voice was right, she wouldn't be that angry, he could still be to the Frog before midnight, and wouldn't it be preferable to meet her friends just a little lubricated? It'd make him less likely to be an ass to them. But thirty minutes passed, and it had been more like three drinks, playing wingman for Brett, talking him up to both girls until they caught the hint that Miller wasn't interested, and honestly wasn't he a great fucking guy? Maybe a better friend than boyfriend.

He probably should get a move on. He had another beer.

Miller was beginning to concede that he needed to leave soon if he wanted to be to the Frog on time, but as he argued with himself a new group came in, a bevy of other Star Helix officers slowly trickling back from their three hour shifts. Miller endured the backslapping and greetings of coworkers who were just happy to have an excuse for drinking. He bought another beer to deal with the comradery, trying to put up with the aren't-we-so-chummy mood of the bar. It drove him crazy: these guys wouldn't say a word to each other in the street normally, but here with no other options they were all pals. All his pals.

He really needed to leave. 

They must all be figuring that fairweather friends were better than none, and here he was just like them: tying one on with a rock hopper like Brett rather than admitting that, no, he had no friends and that, yeah, he might as well waste the night amusing Octavia's chattering girlfriends because, really, Tavi was his only- 

"I gotta go," Miller stood, and appreciated the bolted-down tables and chairs because he was just a tiny bit more unsteady than he would have liked. "Brett, ladies, it's been lovely."

"You're not staying? Who will we kiss at midnight!" One of the girls, Shelia maybe, pouted and batted her eyelashes.

Miller let his face screw up as though deep in thought, "Oh, hm, well… Why not each other?"

Brett made a false wounded sound, but he left them laughing, left with Brett backslapping and a promise of lunch tomorrow. 

"Or the next day, I might have unexpected plans this weekend," Brett amended with a leer.

"Don't hurt yourself," and Miller was gone, walking a bit faster than the crowd, headed down and portside by the fastest route possible. Fifteen minutes was cutting it too short, he kept glancing at his watch, jogging through the crowds, trying to look like he was on police business without actually lying about it. There was no way he'd make it there before midnight. 

He just wanted to find Taviand kiss her senseless.

Miller made it to the Blue Frog five minutes after midnight, then spent three more looking for Octavia. When he spotted her he cut through the crowd, trying to look apologetic or intimidating at all the right times as he bumped into half the bar's occupants. 

Her eyes skimmed past him once before backtracking, "Joe!" By then he was at their table so rather than reply he simply leaned down and kissed her.

"You're drunk," Octavia said. She had pulled away from the chatter of a half dozen belters, all talking and gesturing at once.

"You too," he countered.

"You're late," her face wrinkled. "Hey, I'm mad at you."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not."

He wasn't. He tried to look apologetic at least. "Who'd you kiss at midnight?"

"Ky's mother, Kipo," She gestured to the right, where an older woman had her head resting on her arms. He had been joking, but now Octavia looked sober-ish and actually frustrated. "How about you Joe?"

"It's Joe?!" The cheerful voice was grating and right next to his ear.

"Yeah. Joe, this is Ky. Ky, Joe." Octavia waved her hands. She repeated a dozen names, but Miller focused on Ky, knowing only she and Rana mattered to Tavi.

"It's so good to meet you! Tavi said you'd pulled the short straw and had to work tonight. Sorry you missed midnight," Ky had taken the beer Octavia had been holding and sipped at it. 

"Yeah," Miller barely glanced at Ky because Octavia had hardly glanced at the girl either, preferring to half-glare at him instead. "Yeah, I worked until 2300 then ran into a friend, and ran late... I'm sorry I missed it."

"There's always next year," Octavia said, but she sounded sad. No, he knew that tone: disappointed, and in herself rather than him.

"Well Joe, you're here now: come meet Rana!" Ky was walking away, toward the bar. 

When he glanced at her Octavia waved her hands and sighed, "Go meet Rana, bring me back a Persephone."

Miller couldn't pay attention to either of the young women, saying his hellos, letting Rana give him space at the bar to order.

"Two Persephone IPAs," he managed, then amended. "Wait, one, and a soda."

"Oh, you're not drinking with us Joe?" Ky asked.

Joe let Rana order drinks and considered his answer before giving up on making a good impression, "I, ah, think I'd better not. Pretty sure I've pissed Tavi off: might be better at begging for forgiveness if I'm sober."

"So you're not totally stupid, that's good," Rana dropped a credit on the bar and scooped up far too many shot glasses. "What happened with missing midnight?"

"I'm still pretty stupid," Miller replied. Ky laughed. 

Back at their table it looked like Ky's mother had perked back up from her impromptu cat nap and was talking to Octavia excitedly, and drunkenly. 

Rana set the shots down then pressed one into his palm, "Here, Joe. For you."

He spent a half second wondering if she was so drunk that she'd forgotten their conversation at the bar, but then saw her smile. The tilt of her chin said something, something about petty vengeance and him being an asshole, and this was part of his penance maybe.

Miller clicked his glass against hers, then against Octavia's, and tossed back the liquor. Vodka, maybe, or possibly paint thinner. Rana's smile became a degree less predatory. 

"So Joe, tell us about yourself," Ky said, and that was definitely another part of his penance, half the gathered party was watching him now.

Miller smiled his most winning smile, the one that got him punched in the face as infrequently as possible, the one he used on the rare occasions when he was working with someone who thought he could be the "good cop," and tried to sketch an incredibly edited version of his life without outright lying. The alcohol hit a few minutes into a story about meeting Tavi, and he glanced up to find the woman in question smiling at him. Maybe this whole "being mentally tortured by her friends" was working, because her glare seemed mostly gone.

It took three more rounds of drinks before Rana and Ky stopped hassling him and became more genuinely warm. After the first drink Ky's mother had gone home, after the second drink Tavi had somehow ended up perched in his lap, and by the third drink he was uncomfortably drunk but everyone seemed to have stopped glaring. Miller shifted his weight, ended up with an arm wrapped around Tavi's thigh trying to keep her from falling.

"Well that might be our cue," he spoke into her hair, was incredibly relieved when she laughed, nodded.

"We should go, guys. We'll get lunch tomorrow?" Tavi was sliding off his lap, tugging him up with warm hands.

"Sure. Bring Joe, if he's not too hungover," Rana winked, and Miller realized he was sort of impressed with the girl and sort of loathed her: a hungover lunch was going to be his final test from Tavi's friends. He hated the thought. 

The walk home was a blur. He leaned against his window and just handed Tavi his hand terminal when they got to his apartment, "Here." 

Once they were inside Miller leaned against the closed door and gently reeled Tavi closer by one arm. She didn't resist, let him pull her flush to his chest, let him kiss her slowly and peel her clothing off and kneel.

"I'm sorry I was late," he whispered the words against her stomach, trailing kisses between her hips.

"Lost track of time?" Tavi asked, but her voice was soft, hands tangling in his hair. 

He nodded, nose brushing against her navel, "Let me make it up to you."

Her only reply was to run the nails of her right hand along his shaved scalp, so Miller gently tugged her down to the carpet and used his lips and tongue and teeth to apologize properly. After just a few minutes he wrung a wild noise out of her, watched her fall apart, felt her shudder and twist away as his touch became too much.

Miller rolled onto his back and watched the ceiling panels spin for a moment. Then his view was occluded by golden skin and brown curls as Tavi kissed his lips, throat, stripping off his clothing as she worked her way down until she could take him into her mouth and he had to close his eyes-

"God Tavi, fuck, I'm-"

She didn't stop, one hand wrapped around him and the other holding his hips down, and when he came she swallowed then sat back and took a sip of the beer he'd left out before his shift.

"Mh, stale," Tavi grimaced, tucked him back into his boxers, then stripped his slacks off altogether. She stood, a little wobbly, and pulled him upright, "Come on, come to bed Joe."

Miller let them get two steps, then pinned her to the wall, kissed her again, tasted himself and beer and the spice of whatever shot they had last done at the bar. He was painfully unsteady.

"I love you," was all he managed, and she nodded, tugged him towards the bed

"I know."

"And I hate your friends," he muttered, slipping and half-falling to the floor. Tavi tugged him up onto the bed.

"Yeah? Wait until tomorrow."

"I'm too old for this Tavi-"

"I know," she had him rolled under the coverlet, had turned off the lights. "Go to sleep, Joe."

Miller tried to apologize again, to explain, but hadn't been able to tell if he was talking and she was ignoring him or if he wasn't talking. He listened to her breathing become even, watched the glow of light on the ceiling spin, and felt the hours drag on. He could barely tell sleeping from waking, tried not to toss and turn. He considered his mistakes, drinking too much, not supporting her, literally not being there. He was lying here in the dark too drunk to sleep while Candice- wait, god was he so drunk he couldn't remember the god damn year? Candice was ages ago, undoubtedly, and now far away. Probably in bed with a man who hadn't been too drunk to make love to her, who had been there to kiss her in a bar at midnight, hell maybe they'd stayed home with the baby- did Tavi want that? Was he just burning through her best years like he had with Candice? Was he just killing the time between it being sweet and it being a memory for her too?

Miller woke to an alarm and bright lights already pouring in through the frosted windows. 

"Hey," Tavi was sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed and holding coffee. "I let you sleep in for a bit. How are you feeling?"

"Well let's see, did you beat the shit out of me in my sleep?"

"No more than usual," she passed him the mug, and pressed two aspirin into his palm.

"Guess I can only blame myself," he kicked himself half vertical, sat up enough in the bed to swallow the painkillers and sip the coffee. It took Miller a solid minute to think about anything but the film of pain behind his eyes and to eventually ask, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, had a headache but I took painkillers and used two percent of your water ration on a hot shower. Feel fine now," Tavi was tying up her hair as she spoke, her eyes bright if a hint bloodshot in the small bedroom mirror. "I'm headed to lunch with the girls."

"Shit," Miller replied.

"You're staying here," Tavi's reflection looked at him. "Joe- Just stay home today, rest. It's your day off, the start of a new year, you deserve a day to relax. Get your feet under you." 

Miller sat up, swung shaky legs to the floor, intended to argue, but Tavi was smiling and turning, and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Listen," he began again.

"Stay home. Relax. You met the girls last night, you endured Rana's attempts at pickling your liver, you did your time," Tavi brushed his hair back. 

He thought about trying to apologize again, but when he opened his mouth she stood.

"Take a shower, eat some breakfast. Come by my place for dinner, you can stay the night, we'll go in to work together on Monday. Sound good?" She was gathering her hand terminal and shrugging on her jacket. 

"... Yeah."

"Right. Love you," Tavi didn't pause at the door.

Miller finished his coffee, considered the too-bright lights, and closed his eyes until the aspirin kicked in. They'd never go to a party together again.


	2. Waking up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last time they had dinner together was one of many lasts for the evening.

If she had known it would be the last time they went out together, she might have taken him someplace nicer. She might have dressed up, might have worn makeup, might have flirted and seduced and made love to him like they were some high class couple on a proper date.

And in retrospect Octavia felt that honestly what they did do, the way they spent the evening, it was more fitting, more like their relationship had always been. More honest.

She'd come back to her apartment after working late, and was firstly hungry and secondly lonely. Miller had today off but worked tomorrow, she worked today and had tomorrow off, and the last time they'd had an actual chance to spend more than two hours awake and together had been last goddamn month. 

She collapsed onto her sofa, pulled out her hand terminal, and called Miller. It rang to messages, so she left one.

"Miller, call me back. I've got the evening free and have nothing to do, so if you... Fuck. I miss you. I'm tired and lonely and hungry, Joe. Call me back."

Octavia killed the channel and tipped over on her sofa. She'd just lay there for a minute, then she'd make dinner. In a moment. Maybe two.

The corridor lights were still on when the knocking on her door woke her. She scrambled upright and jerked the door open before even getting her bearings, used to abrupt awakenings being more dangerous than pleasant.

Joe was outside, knuckles frozen where he'd been about to knock again.

"Hey kid, you okay?"

"I'm fine," she stepped back, rubbed sleep from her eyes as he came in. 

"Rough day?"

"Too many cases. You'll see," Octavia wet her hands then wiped down her cheeks and neck with a kitchen towel. "How was your day off?"

"Slept in," he said, which she now knew was code for a hangover. He sat on the arm of her sofa. "Caught up on some personal correspondences," Which she thought was probably code for doing off-the-clock snooping on closed cases, since she knew damn well he had no friends. "You hungry?"

Octavia wondered if he'd eaten today, if he'd been avoiding food due to nausea or the hangover or just self flagellation. When they'd first started dating, first started calling it "dating" rather than just falling into bed together after drinking together, she had worried. Worried he had a problem, that he might hurt himself on accident, or on purpose, with lack of food and too much drink and casual negligence about personal injury. 

She had used to worry silently, brushing his cheekbones with a thumb whenever she had these thoughts, trying to find the words to talk about it. She had traced his ribs in the dark of night, counted the ridges of his spine from cervical vertebrae down until they smoothed flat between his shoulder blades. Octavia had learned to find him attractive, it hadn't been lust at first sight. She'd mapped the paths of raised veins along forearms until she knew them by heart, had learned the feathered edges of hairline and beard and body hair with her fingers, and had discovered the texture of his fingertips with her tongue. She had learned to love this body of his, and how she fit against it, in it, over it. How it felt when they occupied the same space and air.

She'd found the words to tell him of her worries a dozen times now, and been shut down more than that. She had loved his lean body, then learned to feel a twinge of guilt for admiring something that she thought hurt him and that he used to hurt himself, and then had just let go of that guilt some dark night when she wasn't paying attention. 

"Well? Are you hungry or did you eat?" He sounded not-annoyed. Like he was trying to be not annoyed, trying hard, and failing.

Octavia stepped forward, stood between his knees, and ran her thumb along one too-prominent cheekbone where it curved under thin skin, "Nope, haven't eaten. Want to get dinner?"

"Kenji's is having taco night," Miller stood, crowding into Octavia's space, running the pads of two long fingers along her lips lightly. He almost never said the words sober, but they had this, lips and fingers and unspoken things. She saw him feeling guilty, feeling bad for wanting to argue.

At Kenji's they ordered tacos in corn tortillas, filled with cabbage and spiced hot jackfruit. The sour cream was made from nut milk and citric acid, and barely cut through the heat of stewed peppers. Halfway through the meal Miller ordered two beers, and those did cut through the spices, so they ordered two more. Miller paid, probably feeling bad about being so unpleasant earlier.

They were joking and relaxed by the time the tacos were finished, then shared a set of chopsticks to spear a plate of overpriced malasadas still so hot with oil they burned their tongues. And this burn, too, was cured by cold beer, and laughter, both of them drunk from both liquor and the joy of a fight avoided.

"Stay the night with me" Joe said, while Octavia leaned against a wall and clutched her waist in laughter at a mediocre impression he'd done of Cavanaugh.

"Why, do you have more impressions for me?" She straightened, smiled at him, let him press her up to the wall. 

"I can talk dirty to you like Shaddid if you want," he joked.

"Oh please, no."

"Come to my place, Tavi."

She did, they laughed and stumbled their way into his apartment. She stripped down to nothing, then stole a shirt from his drawers while he was in the bathroom. When it was her turn she brushed her teeth with his toothbrush, pulled a few drunken faces in his mirror, and sniffed at his bottle of cologne.

Miller was half asleep when she crawled into his bed, crawled over him to the space she'd claimed as her own, pressed between him and the wall. He rolled against her and pressed up to her back, slipped a hand up her shirt to thumb at a nipple, and sighed into her hair. 

"Sleep, Joe," she said.

Octavia woke him up after midnight when she herself woke up sober and warm and content. She rolled him over, kissed at his brow until she felt his eyelashes flutter open, until she felt his breathing speed up below her, then she rode him until all he could say was her name 'Tavi, Tavi, Tavi,' and she saw stars.

In the morning Miller left her with a soft kiss, and Octavia watched him shrug into a jacket, settle that dumb hat on his head.

"Have a good day off, Tavi," he whispered at the door, probably assuming she was still asleep. He slipped out into the bright corridor and she lay in his apartment, in his shirt, in his bed that still smelled vaguely of their mingled sweat and lust.

Octavia couldn't fall back to sleep, so she rose, pulled on her jeans, and went home where she stripped out of everything but Joe's shirt and fell back to sleep.

She never returned that shirt, and never spent the night in Joe Miller's bed again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was melodramatic wasn't it? A lot of fun to write that one.
> 
> Crits/comments/corrections are my life force, please and thank you.


	3. Can't hold on forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last time they made love, they'd both known it was the last.

He'd been avoiding her for three days when she finally found him. Three days wasn't even that long, for them. They'd spent weeks apart when she'd gone undercover last quarter, spent days apart all the time when their schedules just didn't align.

This time, though, Miller had been avoiding her. Had managed not to be home when she dropped in, not to have his hand terminal when she called.

Tavi didn't deserve this, he knew that, he did. But he'd had an epiphany at a dive bar near center, when he'd sobered up between beers to find a beautiful girl named Sheila on his lap. He hadn't clearly remembered what the epiphany was by the next morning, not exactly, but he had managed not to take Sheila home and so was able to lay in bed in silence and think about the situation.

He lay there through half his day off, finally getting up at noon to piss and glare at himself in the mirror, then drag a bottle of gin back to bed. He could practically hear Octavia saying, "That's not thinking, it's depression Joe." And he could hear her saying, "call me," and saying "you know I want to help you."

And he lay in bed and watched her shade and said, "I love you too much to bother you, Tavi," and, "I'm no good for you," and, "I wish I was enough."

Miller woke the next morning and called in sick. He had the hours to burn for fucks sake. He eventually did roll out of bed, into his least filthy laundry, and down to the ramen cart. He ordered rice noodles and, as a nod to Tavi's constant concern, extra vegetables. By the time the dish arrived he'd thought himself sick again and ate around the vegetables out of spite. The shade of Tavi had no comment, but he could clearly imagine her disappointment. 

After pushing around his late afternoon breakfast Miller went back to his apartment and tried to think about his relationship in an abstract way. 

They'd been dating for about six months, and from the beginning had been staying over at one another's apartments like they belonged there. Octavia had spare underwear at his place, but not a toothbrush. He had a toothbrush at her place (because she'd thought to buy him one) but he'd never brought over any clothing.

Both had said "I love you," frequently. Though Miller was, admittedly, worse at saying it out loud. Except he could say it easily when he was four drinks in, and he could touch her lips or his own easily enough. On the other hand, Octavia only said it when she wasn't mad at him, which was interesting: it felt almost like a reward she could withhold. 

They hadn't talked about moving in together, not directly. Octavia had spent a month complaining about her rent, but she'd stopped that a few weeks ago. 

They had never talked about kids. Octavia would watch the neighborhood children play from his patio, though she did seem to just enjoy the view in general. Her hole was first floor and not in a particularly relaxed neighborhood- there wasn't much to see out her windows at home that was pleasant. She did have a birth control implant, rather than the tell-tale scar from a more permanent procedure, but he hadn't been sterilized either so it's not like he could draw many conclusions from that. And as for him, well, he'd said he didn't want kids but he hadn't taken any actions to prevent it. He'd wanted them once, with Candice, when he'd still been green on the job. 

And what about their jobs? She was coming onto the violent crimes team young, was whip smart, and had already done a few years in vice and crimes against persons so she had a diversified background. She could easily replace Shaddid in a few years, or move back to Ganymede, or hell if she played her cards right and kissed Star Helix ass she could probably land a gig on Luna.

By contrast Miller was in violent crimes for the long haul. He'd been too flippant for too long, pissed off Shaddid and everyone else above her. He'd tried being great at his job and seen no recognition, tried being almost unbearably bad and seen no chastisement, and so had settled into a routine of being good enough to appease his conscience and lazy enough to keep his sanity. If everyone on Ceres maintained their little homeostasis, toed the line, and no one gave him shit over filing reports late? That was living the dream, for him.

And that brought him to their reputations, respectively. Octavia was a good cop, smart woman, attractive, had the whole world ahead of her. Miller didn't even want to think about himself by contrast, felt his mind skim off the bruised ache of the tag 'welwalla' and the reasons he wore that fucking hat. 

This was too personal, this was where he could no longer be objective, so he stopped. Put on an album and sat in the half-dark and started the whole thought process again: they'd been dating for about six months… He could almost see Tavi leaning against his wall looking unimpressed. 

And so he'd avoided the real Octavia, and went through the mental contortions that began with their having dated for six months and ended with his reputation, and he'd walked. He'd walked a lot. It was harder to imagine she was there when he kept the scenery changing.

On the third day Miller woke up and remembered the epiphany.

He'd been very drunk, very maudlin, and trying hard to pretend he wasn't disappointed in himself. He'd run into the girls from New Years, Sheila and Jeanne. Sheila had still been a flirt, and he'd bought both ladies a round and they'd been talking. They'd pulled him out of his melancholy, at least superficially. 

And two drinks in Sheila had run to the bathroom then come back and sat on his knee, easy as anything, and in his head Miller had heard it clearly, something Candice had said-

"I wish you'd just cheated on me, to make it easier to leave you," Candice had been smiling at the time, had been joking in a dark way, and he'd nodded and laughed like it didn't hurt. It hadn't, at the time, because their divorce had taken weeks of highs and lows, vacillated from amicable to cut-throat, and in that moment Miller had agreed. It would have been easier if they'd had any reason other than Candice being low-grade miserable. 

So drunk Miller, with Sheila on his knee, considered (just for a moment, just for a heartbeat) sleeping with this girl. And that was how he realized that Octavia wanted to leave him and that he'd known it, subconsciously at least, for some time. Even if she didn't. 

Maybe he really was better at his job then her.

So Miller had spent the last three days chasing this thought around his head, trying to find a reason to end their relationship for her, so that Octavia wouldn't need to be the one to call it. He'd examined the good, bad, and sideways on how they worked. How they fit together, how badly they fit. Tavi felt so wonderful in his arms, his lap, his bed, and he felt so wrong in her life. 

The second coming of this epiphany had gutted him, left him reeling alone on the floor of a too-messy apartment, and with only two beers in the whole place. He'd drunk both, and having not eaten was halfway to tipsy, and only realized the time when it was almost too late. 

A half hour after her shift ended. He'd meant to leave the apartment, find a bar to hole up in, hide from her a bit longer. He dressed in a rush and ran out the door, headed for anywhere, somewhere she wouldn't think of, the Hyacinth, and-

There she was. Octavia had sat by the door and behind a fern, so that he wouldn't see her until he'd walked into the room. It was always doors and corners, and he'd thought he was safe. Her hair was down, and she never wore it down, but it made for the simplest and most effective disguise now.

Miller nodded at her, sighed, and headed to the bar. He ordered a gin and tonic and whiskey double, waited. She did not come over. She was patient, like some primordial predator. 

He paid, took the drinks to the table Octavia had sat at, and set them down. She chose the whiskey and didn't speak.

"Sorry I been scarce, Tavi. I've been kinda caught up in my own shit," Miller said, and ran a hand through his hair.

Octavia looked sad for a half second, sipped the whiskey, and pulled a face, "Are you okay, Joe? I was worried."

He nodded, like he was sorry she'd worried, and he was. He was sorry it had taken him days to figure out his thoughts, "I'm okay." She looked dubious, so he tried something closer to honesty, "I've been feeling down, just… You know how I get, Tavi."

"You get stuck in your head again?"

"Yeah," he admitted. That was a way to describe it, not a lie but not nearly the truth. Octavia touched his hand, ran thin fingers along his palm in circles. 

He didn't want to make this easy for her, he had changed his mind.

They didn't talk for a long time, and when they finally did they were both pretending that everything was fine. Octavia talked about a string of robberies they'd been working on, then they both complained about the quarterly schedule changes that would probably be announced in the next week or so. Octavia seemed to know he was still caught up in his own thoughts so she carried the conversation- told him about the extra 3 hours a week on Ganymede, how there was no day or night shift thanks to the reflected light off Jupiter, just variable intensity of brightness except for the few hours of utter night in the planet's shadow, and how the security forces there scheduled around that. Miller said he wanted to go, that it sounded so different than the false day and night they had inside Ceres, which had nothing at all to do with the sun or rotation just mimicking UN time on Earth. After he said it, he found that it wasn't true: he didn't want to go and see a planet hanging above him like the god of death, it was just something to say. The kind of white lie you tell strangers to prevent the conversation from drying up.

Miller bought them another round, beers this time, and Octavia didn't comment, didn't complain but also didn't thank him. They got drunk. She got handsey. He didn't mind.

She dragged him to her place a few short hours later, still early evening. They were rushed, frantic, and Miller literally ripped her blouse trying to pull it off the moment her windows went frosted. He felt desperate. She snarled and it was incredibly terrifying and sexy to hear, then shoved him hard to fall onto her sofa.

They didn't get undressed, just ended up disheveled, and he fucked her hard, bent over the arm of the sofa, watching her nails bend back slightly where Octavia clawed at the upholstery and-

"Joe, oh god, Joe!"

When she came shaking and bucking it sent him over the edge after her, until their panting slowed. They worked at regaining breath and sanity, Miller pressing kisses along the strap of her still-clasped bra while she tried to get unsteady arms underneath herself. He peeled them apart but stayed close, hands on her skin, trying to suggest she fall into his lap, let them stay close. Even now his want for her was still burning, bright embers, a need to keep her there, too close for them to think, a barrier between the world and this moment. If he could just keep her in bed, fuck her content, stop the world from leaking in-

Octavia rose, patted his arm, and walked unsteadily to the bathroom. Reality rushed in to fill the void she'd left.

By the time she returned, changed into an un-damaged blouse, Miller was cleaned up as well. He had just tipped his hat back on, having speedily dressed, straightened his clothing, finger combed his hair. He might look drunk and disheveled, but not debauched. 

"You leaving?" Octavia asked it, but it wasn't a question, not really. It was perfunctory, just words.

"Yeah, I have work tomorrow," he said, like that was any reason to leave. Like it made a difference. 

Octavia wrapped a hand around the nape of his neck and pulled him close, kissed him softly, kept him there with their noses and foreheads brushing. They swayed slightly, neither sober enough to stay still.

"Be safe, Miller."

He nodded, broke away and swam for the door through the neck deep haze of too many drinks. Certainly not with damp eyes. He had known it would be the last time they made love, he'd known it for three days, had wanted to make it memorable, had failed. 

Miller went home, found all the bottles in his house were as empty as his bed. He wasn't going to make this easy, he wasn't going to take a shortcut. He fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, sad indecisive Joe, that's vaguely pitiful.
> 
> Not much left for this fic, maybe a last kiss?


	4. You're saying I'm danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last time they kiss is the last time she sees him alive.

The last time she kissed Joe Miller was not what Octavia had expected, not what she wanted. She could taste the grief and pity, but did it all the same.

It had been almost a year since the screaming match that had ended their relationship, though perhaps that was unfair. She'd started calm, but then he'd been sad and stoic and unsurprised in reply, and so she'd reacted with screaming. His subsequent yelling seemed almost perfunctory, even at the time. God, she had wondered, has he always been so sad?

It had only been the one day of yelling. The next day he'd missed work and she hadn't checked on him. She took a week of vacation, Shaddid didn't even comment.

A week later she stood next to him in the second floor breakroom and made herself a cup of coffee that tasted like blood.

"I guess it's good," he said slow, like it was an inside joke, "that we didn't move in together."

Octavia snorted coffee and nodded. She took a second to be sad and mad and amused and want to touch him and want to slap him. Then she said, "Did you leave anything at my place you need back?"

"Nah. You?"

"No."

"Okay," he said, and sipped his coffee looking at the wall. 

They successfully avoided each other for four weeks after that. Octavia wanted to be more angry than sad, she knew anger was easier, but really she just felt hollow. Scraped clean like a melon peel. She saw Miller drinking too much and tried to ignore it. She met up with Rana and Ky for lunches, tried to fall back into old patterns, things that had never involved Miller and so were also places she could not miss him, could not look over to see the Miller shaped hole where he used to be. After four weeks they started sharing small talk at work, and it didn't hurt.

Three months after they broke up she ran into him at a bar. She was two drinks in when she saw him sit down, realized he didn't know she was there, and she thought, "Bad idea. Do it anyway."

Octavia sat at her corner table, stirred the last sip of her drink until she saw Miller's own drink arrive, and only then walked to the bar and ordered another in a voice meant to carry just far enough for him to hear. A little part of her had intended to play at least a little coy, to pretend she hadn't seen him either, but-

From the table Octavia had watched his back, just tipsy enough to imagine the way his shoulders must work and shift under fabric. She didn't need to be tipsy to picture that, but the alcohol helped her forget to chase those thoughts away. Once she'd gone to the bar and ordered another drink, all she could see past the patrons between them had been his hands, long perfect fingers, tapping at the plastic counter.

Miller looked up at her voice, watched her order, and she couldn't help making eye contact to give him a once over. He looked wonderful. She was absolutely not drunk enough for this, and yet she was going to make this mistake, or at least try. Her drink arrived and Octavia didn't actually invite him back to her table. 

She also didn't actually invite him to her apartment, and yet they ended up there, making out like teenagers on her sofa, her with one hand down his pants and him with both under her shirt. And he had the absolute audacity to fuck it up.

"Fuck, Tavi," his tone and the pet name had nearly melted her. "I missed this."

Not I missed you, but this. It reminded Octavia that they were not a couple, were not in love. What she wanted was something they couldn't recover, and-

"Joe, we can't," she said.

"Sure we can," he half laughed. "You still got the implant, neither one of us have been with anybody else, I'm sure of that."

"Joe-" how the hell he knew that she didn't ask, she knew: he was incapable of not keeping tabs on everything, including his exes sex lives. It pissed her off, made this easier. 

"What's the problem? You want me, I want you, we're good at this. We're really fuckin good at this, Tavi," his lips were pressed against her neck, whispering his arguments to her pule points. "Come on, you know I'll make you feel good-"

"For now, Joe," Octavia stood, disentangling their limbs and clothes and hearts. "And tomorrow I'll feel like shit. I'm too old for that kind of a hangover, Miller, and you are too. You should go."

She had ushered him out of the apartment, and slammed the door on in his face when he paused outside to say something.

It had been a terrible idea, and she was glad they'd avoided a mistake. In fact, really, she was grateful to him for saying all the right things to make her realize that he couldn't or wouldn't give her what she really wanted anymore. She wanted the best of him, or at the very least for him to acknowledge there was a best of him which existed. No one was perfect, but he couldn't keep using that as a reason to not fucking try. 

From then on any time he made a half-serious pass at her, she could simply imagine the next morning, and how much she would want to slap him. She didn't want to want to slap him. He became easy to turn down.

And really that could never have been their last kiss. No, he had to go and actually find the best of him, learn to try, and do it for someone else, and she had to be blind enough to think he'd done it for himself.

The whole day had been a nauseous adrenaline rush of change with a backdrop of civil war: from her hearing Miller had been fired to getting what sounded like a suicide note on her audio message queue.

Octavia hadn't run to his apartment, some primitive part of herself believing that acknowledging her panic with action might be what makes the worst true. If she was calm, then there was no reason to worry, no threat or danger. If she kept walking then the tiger behind her would keep walking, but if she ran…

He was downstairs, at a shop-front for a pachinko parlor, and she wanted to hit him.

"Miller, what the hell?"

They were talking but the feeling of relief was like a tangible wash of warmth behind her eyes, she couldn't focus. Octavia stared at him, he must have wanted help-

"You can't come with me," Miller said eventually. 

What? After all this he didn't want her there, didn't want help, didn't want her. She felt a flush of embarrassment, felt the confused mortification of having made a wrong move at some point, tried to play back the last few weeks and find her error-

He tossed a necklace in his hand, and it was passingly familiar and she finally placed it: his little lost rich girl. 

"Bad timing-"

He hadn't been seeking a pay day, she'd known that really. He also hadn't been looking for Octavia's help over and over because he wanted a chance to hit on her. He hadn't been trying to impress Octavia with his breakdown of the Scopuli's flight, he hadn't really been upset at Octavia when she'd doubted him. He hadn't just not picked up on the hint when she'd almost kissed him after dragging him out of an airlock, he had seen it and he had pulled away, because kissing Octavia would be wrong when he didn't-

"Oh, Joe," she kept her eyes on the metal of the necklace so she wouldn't look at him with pity or see his own. He didn't deserve that, neither did she.

She spent a minute composing her features before meeting his gaze, and once she did she saw that Miller thought, what? That she found him pitiful, sad, hopeless? Whatever he thought he was seeing his reaction was acceptance rather than anger. 

"I didn't know," she managed.

"And I didn't realize you-" 

"Don't," she cut him off. Octavia didn't want pity from Miller either. "We don't choose-" she could finish. How we feel? Who we love? Was he in love with Juliette?

She couldn't look at his face, kept her eyes on the buttons of his shirt. She watched Miller step closer, watched his hand reach out, closed her eyes as he tipped her chin up and kissed her once, just a bare brush of lips, just the dry kiss of goodbye you might give a small child.

"Stay safe, Tavi."

Even while he walked away Octavia knew it was the last time she'd ever see Joe Miller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, whichbwill probably be short, and then this is done.


	5. In This Blue Shade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last time Joe sees Octavia he knows it's not really her, but it's nice anyway.

The last time he sees Octavia, it's not her. Not really. He knows that. 

But hell, he's been seeing a dead girl once a week, saw Havelock not an hour ago, and he's too tired to argue with his subconscious. 

"Hello Tavi," he says. She smiles. He continues to uncap the green air tank he's been opening, attaching it to his suit and listening to the hiss of fresh air drown everything else out.

She doesn't speak until he is done making noise, until he has removed the tank from his suit and taken a few deep breaths. 

"So you found her," Octavia says, leaning against a medical cart that is crusted in a craggy surface sprouting a thousand villi waving bright blue in the air. Miller wonders if they have a scent like flowers.

"Not yet," Miller stands, pushes the cart with his pet nuke a little further down the hall. Its wheels had filled with tangled villi when it stopped, and now the fast growing proto-plant rips when the wheels turn. He wonders if that too has a scent.

Octavia walks beside him, never tripping or slowing from the uneven floor and fallen debris. 

"So you're still on your quest," Octavia says. She could make it sound mocking, but it isn't. "Find the rich girl."

"Julie," he corrects.

"Right. Julie," Octavia steps around what might have once been a rib cage which is panting and black in the dim blue glow. "Do you think you two would have had a chance, if it weren't for..?" She gestures widely.

"For what?" He knows.

"Happiness."

"Nah," Miller shifts his weight, rocks the wheels over a root-like structure. 

"You and me did though," she says.

He has to pause, to think, then, "Yeah. We probably did."

"But you didn't want that."

"Want what?" Again, he knows.

"A family," she swings around a light post like she's in a film, like it's gentle rain falling and not a downdraft of blue alien fireflies."

"Did you?"

"You seem to think so."

They're silent for some time, two long halls. Miller is surprised to find her still here, and leans against the bomb to catch his breath in a cross corridor and tries to find his answer.

"With you and with Candice I thought I was, I don't know, letting ya down," Miller explains, trying to scratch his arm through the vac-suit without much success. "I didn't know that I didn't want it."

Octavia stares at him, hair perfect despite the bizarre setting. She crosses her arms, "Hell Miller, I could have told you that." He walks away.

She is there again, near the ports and close to the Blue Falcon. He takes another rest, knowing it will be his last before the hotel. Octavia watches him loosen the straps on the bomb, in case he needs to carry it again.

"And is this what you want?" She asks.

"I think so," he says, and he does. "And, I mean, probably won't live long enough to change my mind."

Tavi smiles, nods. 

"Good. Then I'm happy for you."

She is gone. She was never there. The corridors breathe and the fireflies flock together. 

"I hope so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! Fun, mostly sad, pretty fucking sappy tbh. Really fun to write. 
> 
> Crits/comments/corrections being me life. I adore EVERY hit and kudos, y'all.


End file.
